Blister
by Thirty-Seventh Hour
Summary: Alamaeter training center is infamous for it's aptitude when it comes to breaking any will short of iron. Better men have failed, and now it's her turn to walk the fire. In this, she will come to understand what it truly means to be a soldier and a survivor. A somber, albeit intimate recount of Lightning's time in military basic.


If somebody had come to say goodbye I may have stayed, but nobody came. I'm not gonna pretend that I wasn't upset. Lying to you will do me no good, especially considering I've already dashed my reliability as a narrator by addressing you directly. Thus, I won't deny that this story is going to be something of a one-sided coin. At this point, all I can say given my regard is good luck flipping heads.

I'm inclined to give you a bit of background, but I think most of the blanks have already been filled. There's little information worth feeding you that can't already be assumed. All I can say is that my life used to be a lot simpler. Things got complicated, and that's the story I'm sure you know. Life does that to you sometimes, gets complicated, gets loud, gets publicized, gets extrapolated and torn apart piece by piece until everybody under the blue sky has an opinion on what makes you tick. That's the thing about having your life spilled out onto a desk, everybody gets to ponder your pleasures and pains, your vices and virtues and just how black you like your coffee. Problem is, nobody ever really bothers to ask you to give definitive answers, because the truth is always much simpler and often less entertaining than half-balanced fiction And thus we've reached our impasse. What came before the prying eyes? What came before the complications?

In a short answer, mud. A lot of mud. So let's back up.

One common misconception is that I don't say much. In reality, I'm a quiet person when my tongue is the matter. But, in writing I find I can keep my tongue still and still scream like a siren. If I can't speak my answers, I think I'll write them, even if the questions haven't been asked. This was how I first found trouble, as the school system tends to favor those who verbally express their knowledge. At the time, I had little to say out loud and a lot to put on paper, but had the misfortune of finding myself in a world where vocal chords are the chosen method of communication. Teacher asked a question, I knew the answer, and my hand stayed planted on the desk. Why? Because frankly, I couldn't be bothered. Why should someone like me go out of her way to answer this teacher's questions? He already knows the answer, why does he care if we do? I'll get the information one way or another, right? Even if I don't answer the question someone else will and the world will just keep spinning.

Well, the world spun just fine, but my marks didn't. I found myself barely walking at graduation, as I silently took my diploma and went on with my day, not caring to stay for the reception afterwards. There are 5,000 different academic institutions in the world, and coincidentally, 5,000 doors closed for me that day. I had another mouth to feed at home, a younger, smarter sister. And unfortunately for me, I was left with no support system to pay for her future. Any good job required a university degree, and paying to attend a university meant starving Serah. In the end, I figured that there was only one honest way to keep the money flowing, that would take me with my academic record. It wasn't a future I'd ever hoped for, or particularly aspired to, but it was one that would bring in enough to give my sister the future I'd given up by way of silence.

So, where were we? Waiting for the dropships, I think. It'd be fitting to say it was raining that day, but of course, living in a resort town does come with its benefits, not the least of which is a daily forecast of 23 degrees and sunny as an egg. I was the only person in the waiting room who gave any indication of not wanting to be there. About six well fitted men where laughing hysterically in a corner, a few younger faces were buried in COM devices, messaging some friend or another to get their impersonal goodbyes out of the way, and a few muscular girls had sectioned off to look tough in a corner, clearly above their male comrades for solely the purpose of being the minority. And yet there I sat, pink hair falling down past my face as my head hung, buried into the folds and curves of a black duffel bag at my feet. I'd packed lightly, given the circumstances. Two pairs of clothes, a jacket for when the nights got cold, a music player (I forgot the charger and regretted it for the four months I was away) and a photo of Serah that I'd lose within the first week. As I saw it, I was going to basic training, not on vacation. There was no reason to bring anything that'd give the impression I missed the comforts of home. I'd love to be honest and say that I was terrified, but not a touch of fear ran through my veins. Rather, I took ownership of some mild regret and maybe a bit of hunger. I'd forgotten breakfast. This would be the first, and biggest mistake of my military career.

The dropship came exactly six minutes late, and I was the tenth last to board. By the time I'd scanned for an open seat, each was taken by at least one person. I did some quick social math, and immediately exed desire to sit with any of the other women from the station. In fact, there were few of the boys I had any desire to sit with, as many of their eyes fell on me and about fifty 'come-hither' stares flew to their faces. I was one of the few female recruits, and at that, the only one in the station who hadn't taken the foresight to cut her hair ahead of time. Basically, for the next two hours I was the last shot at feminine salvation.

I found one of the men who hadn't lifted his eyes to watch me pick a seat, a thin guy with a cool silvery hair that looked prime for the mandated razor treatment it was going to get upon arrival. His head was lowered and staring into a blue holographic screen that bore the image of some maze game. When I sat, he raised an eye to me and chuckled.

"Didn't know the military had a cheerleading team." He muttered, and buried his face back into the device.

"What?" Was all I could manage to say. I understood his intention perfectly, but couldn't find myself to argue it yet. My first friend, I guess he was. He looked up at me and shook his head.

"I think you may have caught the wrong route." He said, clearly frustrated. "This is to Alamaeter training center, not the diamond district."

"I know." I said, again, like some kind of idiot. I put my eyes forward and tried to ignore the man as he shut down his device and cleared his throat.

"And what's a thing like you doing going to a place like that? Working the kitchens? Maybe paying a visit to your boyfriend?"

"This is the recruitment ship. I'm going to train, same as you."

"Oh!" He exclaimed looking around. "Well, will you look at that. This pretty young thing's coming to be a solider?"

There were a few wayward chuckles and a couple of comments that I tried to flush out of my brain as quickly as I could before I took them to heart. I felt my seat kick from behind me, and turned around to face a muscular black-haired man wearing a mile-long grin.

"You best be watchin' yourself love. You know what Alamaeter's known for best, 'sides breaking kids?"

I furrowed my brow and turned back around, reaching down to my bag for wherever I'd buried my music player. I knew that headphones wouldn't make them disappear, but at least It'd do a number on their voices. But, as I found the device, and threw the earbuds in, I felt a finger pull one out of my right ear, and a warm breath run down my right ear.

"Coed showers."

First, a chill ran down my spine. In the back of my mind, I knew that I'd face someone or something like this at a point, but the fact that it'd come so soon was all the more terrifying to me. But, as much as I knew what to expect, I also knew that I only had one chance to make an impression, and that I had no intention of sharing a shower in the way this guy had in mind. So, I leisurely turned back around to face the man, and folded both arms over the back of the seat. There was something witty to say but again, I'm not a woman of many words. Rather, I had other talents which took priority, many of them involving clenched fists. He didn't expect me to do anything, nor to even be capable of doing anything. An illusion which I shatter without effort, as I dug my fingernails into the respective sides of his head and with a heavy thrust, smashed his face against the metal divider which separated his window from mine. I heard a heavy 'crack' in his forehead region, and considered letting go. But, I reasoned that one more wouldn't kill him, and would just help to set a tone. So, I repeated the motion once more, before letting his head drift back to position.

The entire bus was silent as they watched his head flop back into place. I watched him go dazed a little and try to grab at me, but instead ended up hitting his head on the back of the seat once more. The silver haired man next to me coughed once and slowly scooted a few inches to the left, closer to the window. Giving him no regard, I rose to my feet and moved one seat back, sitting down next to the shower fan.

"Don't say or do anything." I warned him. "You'll only embarrass yourself."

"I'll kill you for this." He hissed, fumbling around at me, as I easily shoved him off.

"You already look weak. No need to look weaker. Shut up and stay that way."

I craned my head up and scanned around the bus. Many people had already looked away, but a few choice eyes were still trained in my direction. The last thing I wanted was to cause a scene, so I lowered my head and firmly planted myself next to the man.

"We're gonna take this ride together, you and I. And you're not gonna say a word, or touch me in any way shape or form, is that clear?"

"I… Um…" He coughed once and put a hand on his head. "You're a psycho bitch, you know that, right? Alls I did was make a joke."

"Well, I don't have a very good sense of humor." I said. "And for the remainder of this trip, neither do you. Are we clear?"

"Urgh… yeah. Sure, whatever. Just fuckin'… don't touch my head again, lady."

I chuckled and settled in, keeping a stern eye on the man. He didn't speak a word until we landed in Alamaeter three hours later. A cool wind flushed the cockpit as the front hatch opened and a tall, well built man in a grey suit came charging in with a clipboard.

"Ackson! Rainar Ackson!" He yelled, followed by a moment of silence. He scanned the space before a hand went up and a weak voice echoed "uh… here".

The list continued for awhile before he reached "Cheloway! Ronin Cheloway!", and the man next to me raised his hand groggily.

"Ronin." I said, grinning a little.

"What?" he asked, looking over at me and furrowing his brow. "What's wrong with my name?

"Wouldn't have guessed is all." I said bluntly.

"You smash my face in and suddenly you wanna be all buddy-buddy with me?"

"All I said was I couldn't picture it." I hissed. "Not trying to be friendly, but as I see it you're the only person in this place I know, so may as well start learning names."

"Yeah, well save the name-game for when we get off the ship." He said, shaking his head. "Gods be good, I get sectioned off away from you… uh." He stopped and bit his lip. There was a moment of silence as the reader yelled another name, until he cleared his throat and turned back to me. "What's your name then? You're gonna make fun of mine and be so high and mighty."

"My name?" I asked, considering a second.

"Farron! Lightning Farron!" The clipboard man yelled. Ronin gave me a puzzled look, and I couldn't help but grin as I put my hand high into the air.


End file.
